


Dark Designs

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: But I warn upwards to be safe, Dark fic, Dubious Consent, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Sexual Violence, Violence, no actual rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Captured by her former Master, Ahsoka is 'offered' the choice to follow him... or else.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stiletto Ren (Stiletto929)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stiletto929/gifts).



Ahsoka Tano has been in plenty of terrible situations, if she is honest with herself. Whatever Master Yoda had claimed, she is _sure_ the Force has a sense of humour, and a black one at that. The more she learns about the galaxy, the more she sees the gap in what her – well – what the _Council_ had taught her. 

It’s complicated. There’s no better word for it: _complicated_. Complicated in that ‘you will understand in time’ way that Obi-Wan always used to imply, when now she’s sure he was talking to _himself_ , not to herself and Anakin. 

Yeah. He never did get the chance to explain.

Maybe if she’d stayed around, she—

No. No use thinking about the past like that. It’s gone. All she has is the present, and presently she’s in a grey, but large room. 

It’s not what she expected when she woke from whatever Anakin had done to her. He’s Anakin, to her. He’s still... he’s still _him_. Hidden behind a mask, wrapped from head to toe, taller than anyone has any right to be... but she _knows_ he’s still in there. Even if she couldn’t feel him through the Force, she’d know. 

And she won’t use that name, not even in the confines of her own head. To let it win is to let him change, and she isn’t ready for that. Even in their duel, she’d held back... just enough aggression to let everyone get away, and then... then she hadn’t the heart to really go in for the kill, but she’s sure he didn’t, either.

Judging by her ‘prison cell’, anyway.

Her bed is small, but comfortable. Having grown up a Jedi, she’s used to small cots and field beds, so this is relative luxury. Even as _Fulcrum_ , she’d not been one for luxury of any sort, just function and form. This might even be better than the Rebellion afforded her, but she aches in too many places to make a final decision on that front. 

Aches, and the worst part of it is knowing she deserves it. Knowing that every place her muscles thud under her skin is somewhere she didn’t take enough care over, or every abrasion or section of damage is a blow she couldn’t fully block. She lets her eyes drift shut as she reaches out to feel every part of her, to become... aware.

Down from the knot of tension behind her eyes, down into the twinge in one shoulder from a blow too hard to fully take. Everything feels like it’s still attached. There’s no gaps in her awareness, but some is slower to respond than others. 

He wants her alive. 

She has to hope that means... there’s still hope.

She refuses to give in.

(She tries.)

***

The first meal doesn’t come. There’s a small bathroom ensuite, and she drinks the water from there in the glass provided when nothing else is forthcoming. Her belly aches, and she’s paced around the room and investigated everywhere three times before there’s any movement anywhere close.

Almost everything bolted down. Nothing – save the shatterproof glass, the bed linen, and the clothes on her aching body – that could be used, abused, removed, or weaponised. 

She’s frustrated, and then there’s something half-way between horror and hope when she realises who is coming inside.

He’s taller. Much taller. Whatever the Emperor did to him, he’d stretched him infinitely higher, which is ridiculous. Anakin Skywalker had never been short to begin with.

She can’t see his face, but she imagines what his expression would be below it. That little extra twitch in his lip, the way his mouth would press when he was frustrated... she knows his expressions so well that she could always feel them without ever lifting her eyes. 

Ahsoka wonders what canvas those expressions sit on, now. She can feel the physical pain radiating off him, and it hurts to be around such agony. 

“I have spared your life.”

His voice is different. Deeper, even if you discount the mechanical alteration. It booms, and sounds... sneering. It sounds like he would speak to the Council, when they did something stupid. He’d rarely been so critical of her, not... not in the same way. Not in the same _angry_ way, more fond exasperation? She likes to think so.

“You want me to say thanks?” she asks, her voice a little rough from lack of use.

“I want you to join me.”

“Kinda... already in the same room, Skyguy. You didn’t give me a choice in the matter.” 

Her tongue was always what got her into trouble the most, after her – uh – impulsive nature. Something they’d always had in common. 

Honestly, what the Council expected, letting Obi-Wan train Anakin, and Anakin train her? In retrospect, there was never going to be anything else happen, was there?

“You will become my Apprentice, Ahsoka, and you will renounce your old name.”

“...which one, that, or Snips? ‘Cause I kinda already—“

Suddenly there’s pressure, pressure that comes out of nowhere. A lifted, gloved hand and it’s like his very fingers curl around her throat, choking out the sound. Her own lift at first, wanting to claw the invisible grip away, but she won’t give him the satisfaction. 

Deep in her mind, she knows she’s never going to be as strong as him, but then – every Jedi had known that – and that part wants to _survive_. It screams at her that she only has so long without air, and even though she reaches out with the Force, trying to slow her body down to extend her window of survival... he could kill her. Right now. He could make her see black and go, or he could snap her neck. The knowledge of his strength, more than he’d ever had fettered by brown robes or black... 

It shouldn’t affect her, but it does. It’s likely the reduced oxygen levels, but the threat of death and the knowledge of how powerless she is... how much he’s grown, how _intensely_ he burns beneath that mask... an odd spike like a shard of pure ice that burns when it penetrates her, melting and flooding through her like a real water shower. 

_No_.

“You feel it,” he purrs, his head inclining just slightly. “Don’t you? The _power_ of the Dark Side.”

She can’t speak, can only croak, as the fingers sink in without touching her. Things are going misty, and there’s a weird, salty, meaty taste in her throat. She can _feel_ it alright, but that doesn’t mean... anything. 

“You will join me, as you were always meant to. My _Apprentice_.”

Padawan. That was what she’d been, but she’d left. 

She doesn’t want this... this... _dark_ thing. It’s filled with hate, hate and anger, and—(oh, but she’s felt both. She’s felt pure rage, wanted to take her vengeance. She’s felt hurt and betrayed, she’s felt fury, and--)

“The Darkness is not only those things,” Anakin tells her, in that voice she knows is him, but also isn’t. “It is all emotion. It is all _power_. It is what the Jedi would keep you from, your true self.”

No. Her eyes sting, and she does claw at her throat, now, the terror too strong to fight off. It batters at her like a high storm, and she just wants to _live_. Wants to live. Everything else is too complicated, Light, Dark, Jedi, Sith... she just needs to _breathe_. 

The pressure goes, and she lands on her hands and knees. 

“In time, you will learn. The Jedi have poisoned your mind, and the Force shall set you free. Eat. I will return.”

Eat. The food comes in on top of a mouse droid, which burbles at her, bumping into her flank until she takes the tray. She can’t eat with her throat hurting like it is, but if she doesn’t... when will she? Will they take it away?

The droid whirs out, but Anakin – Vader – has already gone. 

She moves to the small bed with the tray, and closes her eyes, trying to get the sense of him out of her body. She doesn’t know how far away he can reach her from, or even if she’d know if he was in her mind or not.

Ahsoka Tano has been in impossible situations before. It’s just... this one feels worse. 


	2. Chapter 2

Part of the problem is, all her training in ‘resisting’ the Dark Side was from the Jedi. Jedi... who she... well. She can’t say she believes in all they stood for, not any more. At the start, they’d had good ideals, but she’d seen problems even before she split.

So she doesn’t really know how to prepare herself for this. If it were anyone _but_ Anakin, she could just hate them. But this is _Anakin._ Anakin Skywalker. Master Skywalker. _Skyguy_. 

And in some ways, she can see his point. Not the whole mass-murdering, Human-centric, anti-Republic bits, but the other things. The _Jedi_ things. She doesn’t hate them (no, she’s not the hating kind), because for the most part the Jedi _did_ think they were trying to help the galaxy. Kanan and now Ezra... they’re the future, she hopes. Not whatever the Sith are planning.

But how does she resist? It’s – it’s frightening. The Jedi taught that the Dark Side would consume you, and if her old Master is anything to go by... it’s true. Anakin – impetuous and impulsive – was _good_. She knew that. _Good_. Stronger than her, by far. If he could fall...

She needs a plan, or something. She needs to stop panicking.

***

“Does your slavedriver know about me?”

“Your presence is known only to me.”

“Right. So he won’t approve of this, is what you’re saying?”

“There are always only two Sith: a Master, and an Apprentice.”

“So you aren’t even the boss man? You went from Jedi Master to—“

His hand lifts, and she’s _furious,_ suddenly. He’s cut her speech off, cut her breathing off, and she fights back through the Force, fear and anger mixing together.

“I am your Master, and I always will be. You will join me, and together we will rule this galaxy.”

 _Never_. She can’t speak, so she thinks it as loudly as she can. Never. Never, never, never—

“You can feel it. I sense it within you: the need to _control_.”

Control her freaking breathing! You know, that thing she needs to _stay alive with_. She wants to reply angrily, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? He’s showing her how close her emotions are to the surface. 

“The power you need has always been within you. You simply need to _accept_ it.”

What will he do if she doesn’t? Strangle her to hypoxia, over and over? Get angry and _kill_ her, like he killed—

He must sense her thoughts, because suddenly she’s dropped, and he’s looming over her. Ahsoka cringes, feeling the anger pulsing off of him in waves. He loved her. He loved Padmé Amidala with all his being. Everyone who really knew him suspected as much, and yeah, it had been hard to keep it a secret, to let it slide... to... live with it... but they all had. 

“Do not think of her.”

“Kinda hard not to,” she wheezes, rubbing the front of her throat.

“You will learn. I will return.”

She knows she’s shaken him, but she’s not sure it was worth it.

***

There is nothing in this room but herself, and her thoughts. Neither of them are particularly wanted, and she knows this is a psychological assault.

Break her down. Remove her resistance. Make her crave company.

It’s what she’d do, if she was him, and she hates that she knows it.

If she resists him, he’ll push her harder. If she... concedes, she’s lost. If she tries to go the path of least resistance and not fight back, but not give in... he’ll know. And he won’t be satisfied.

Ahsoka slides her hands down her lekku, trying to comfort herself. Her eyes are open but she isn’t really looking at anything, just... existing. One minute her mind tries to wrap around it all, the next it just... can’t. So it stops. It just hits a wall and doesn’t keep going. 

She shouldn’t have thought of Padmé, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been cut up inside when she found out what happened to her. She’d been like an older sister to her, except... kind of...

It was complicated, okay. 

The weird sensation she’d experienced when Ana- Va- when _he_ choked her... it was one she’d known for years. A weird pull, an itch, that had bubbled under the surface for years. Her pre-pubescent mind hadn’t known how to process the draw of him, and she’d scrabbled and pulled at it. Tried to get away from the odd images, and then... woken from clumsy, awkward dreams.

She’d wanted, before she’d known what wanting was. She’d felt an odd empty heat low down, an awareness of how it could be different, without really knowing what it would feel like. By the time her hormones kicked in fully, she’d been awkwardly pressing her thighs together and clenching hard, pretending it would make it go away, not make it _worse_.

Because love was forbidden, even though she sort of always knew he loved Padmé. That made it worse, knowing there was a chance... and also not. She’d loved Padmé intensely, but she’d been consumed by envy as well. Why wouldn’t he look at her like that? Anakin had been a child when he met Padmé, and it worked for them. Just because she’d been younger when _they_ met, it – it – 

The pressing turned to a pillow, humping it softly, trying to make no sound. It wasn’t enough, but it had been all she’d had. She hadn’t dared touch herself properly out of shame for _years_ , and only when she’d found the hormonal changes too bad to handle one month that she’d given in.

Afterwards, she’d felt dirty, somehow. The fantasies couldn’t quite work, and when she finally finished, she wasn’t sure if she’d done it right. Sticky fingers and thighs, and a little less tension, but a lot more confusion.

Ahsoka had never wished ill on Padmé in her _life_. But part of her... part of her can’t help but be... no.

She isn’t like that.

She isn’t. At all.


End file.
